


Let Your Hair Down

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Fluff, References to childhood trauma, also some fun costumes, and tasha up like irene adler, because i like dressing data up like holmes, hair cutting, some very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Tasha always cuts her own hair.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	Let Your Hair Down

“Computer, scissors.”

The replicator hummed, producing the requested object easily, and the metal gleamed when Tasha picked them up. Whoever had designed them must have had a flair for old Earth artifacts; they were pure metal all the way through, with intricate designs on the handle twisting into floral shapes. They were a far cry from the safety scissors Tasha had seen children use in the _Enterprise’s_ schools – not just ornate but sharp. A work of art, but also a tool.

Tasha carried them into the bathroom, setting them down against the sink as she activated the water. She cupped her hands under the flow, then ran her fingers back through her hair, wetting the locks. The blonde turned darker under the touch, flattening against her head as she ran a comb through it. It was a familiar ritual, and a comforting one.

She draped a towel around her neck, arranging it so it covered the shoulders and collar of her uniform, and then reached for the scissors again. The first several times she’d done this, it had been haphazard, choppy and rushed. Now, Tasha separated out the layers with practiced ease, and the severed strands fell unceremoniously onto the towel in neat rows.

The lights flickered, the Red Alert alarm blaring so suddenly that Tasha nearly snipped at her fingers, and she cursed, dropping the scissors and whipping off the towel, tossing it onto the countertop. She glanced in the mirror, ruffling her hair and wrinkling her nose as the damp locks fell back against her head, uneven where she’d begun cutting. But there was nothing to be done. Tasha turned on her heel, her stride out of her quarters turning into a jog as she made her way to battle stations, barking “status?” at the ensign she relieved from the tactical control the moment she reached the bridge, all else forgotten as she slid easily into the role she had trained so hard to fill.

The damage was minimal. The _Enterprise_ was a tough ship, and Picard a skilled captain with an equally skilled crew. Still, Tasha felt relief sag through her when Red Alert was cancelled, and the lights returned to normal. She leaned against her console, braced on her hands, and let her head hang for just a moment as she took a deep breath, straightening again when she echoed her report back to the captain. There was an air of settling across the bridge, and Tasha relaxed, smiling at Data when he stood from his ops position, passing her on the way to the science station. She reached out, and ran a hand down his arm. It was a momentary touch, and Data’s only reaction was to give her a brief nod, his eyes softening slightly when he glanced at her, but it calmed the tension still thrumming through Tasha’s body. His eyes flicked to her hair, his head cocking as his brow furrowed slightly, and Tasha blushed, clearing her throat as she looked away.

Her hair was dry by the time they left the bridge together, stepping into the turbolift in sync as the ensign who had been at tactical returned and a science officer relieved Data from his post. Tasha could feel Data looking at her, and swallowed self-consciously, fighting the temptation to run her fingers through her hair, as if that would distract from the lopsidedness. As the lift began moving, she blurted, “It’s not done.”

Data blinked, cocking his head, and Tasha flushed again, rubbing the back of her neck. In a more even voice, she said, “I know it looks a little weird. I was just in the middle of cutting it, and the alert went off, and-“ She cut herself off. “Anyway. It’ll look better when I finish it.”

“I was not going to comment.”

“Right.”

The lift slowed to a halt, and the doors opened. Tasha glanced back at Data as she got off. “I’ll see you later?”

He inclined his head, and a small smile graced his lips. “I am looking forward to it.”

Tasha relaxed. She grinned back. “Meet at your quarters at 1900? I’ll need your help getting into the costume. The corset is impossible with one pair of hands.”

“Not impossible,” Data said, but there was a sparkle to his eye that made Tasha swear he was joking, even if he would deny being capable of it. “However, if you would prefer one of Adler’s male disguises-“

“And miss the way you look at me in that dress?” Tasha laughed. “Not a chance.” As long as she was allowed to wear pants – period appropriate, of course – beneath it, Tasha didn’t mind the costume one bit. She hesitated, and then darted back to kiss Data’s cheek. “See you then.” And she headed back to her quarters without another glance.

Data was mostly dressed in his Holmesian attire when Tasha graced his doorstep – everything save the bulky coat. It was a good look on him, but then, Tasha had to admit to some bias. She thought just about everything was a good look on Data. She deposited her bundle of fabric onto his desk and stripped out of her uniform unselfconsciously, tugging the Victorian undergarments on without looking at him, and Data waited patiently until she turned back to him to move. She offered the corset out to him, and he took it, helping her into it and busying himself with the laces.

“May I ask a question?” he asked as he cinched it, looping the laces through their eyelets with practiced ease.

Tasha straightened, staring straight ahead, only in part from his actions. After a moment, she said, “Sure.”

“I was contemplating your earlier statement. Did I infer correctly that it meant you were cutting your own hair?”

“Why?” Tasha’s hand went to her head, tugging lightly on the short strands. “Does it look weird?” She hadn’t thought so, but Data’s visual processing was more advanced than the naked eye.

“No. It is both aesthetically appealing and suited to your personality. That was not the source of my curiosity.”

“Oh.” Tasha relaxed a little. She glanced over her shoulder, but Data’s eyes were fixed on his own hands as they worked. She faced forward again. “Well, yeah. I do. Cut my own hair, I mean.”

“Why? The _Enterprise_ has many hairstylists, and I am told the salon is a highly enjoyable experience the majority of the time.”

Tasha winced. She looked at the floor. “That’s what I hear.”

“You are distressed.”

“No!” Tasha took a breath. “Not…exactly.” She and Data had been together long enough that Tasha knew she could trust him, but that didn’t make his questions any easier. A lifetime of instincts didn’t unravel easily. She sighed. “It’s…kind of complicated.”

“Would you like me to cease asking?” It was Data’s response whenever Tasha struggled with talking about this sort of thing. It was sweet of him to offer, but Deanna had pointed out more than once how closed off Tasha could be. It wasn’t a healthy trait in a relationship.

“It’s alright,” she said softly. “Just…give me a minute.”

Data felt obediently silent, finishing his work on her corset and standing back. Tasha crossed the room, yanking on the rest of the costume. The ruffles fell into place, and she tugged gently on the quarter-sleeves to straighten them before reaching for the gloves. As she slipped them on, adjusting the fingers, she said, “It’s a security thing.”

“Could you elaborate?”

It was easier when she wasn’t looking at him. “The idea of having someone else that close to my neck with a weapon…everything about it makes me jumpy. I don’t feel safe.”

“I see.”

“I don’t think anyone else has cut my hair while I since I was…maybe four? Not while I was conscious, anyway.” She got the gloves on, and brushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “I’ve tried growing it out, but I don’t…I like it short, and it’s safer anyway. In this job, and…before. But at this length, every inch makes a difference, so every few months I have to go back in and cut it again. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

“You do appear to be proficient.” Data’s hand settled gently on her arm, and Tasha was proud that she didn’t startle. When she turned to him, his expression was somber. “It is regrettable you had that experience.”

“Thanks.” Tasha sighed. She smiled faintly at him. “Sorry. Nothing lightens the mood for a mystery adventure like a dose of childhood trauma, huh?”

“You do not have to apologize.” Data picked up the last touch, a little jeweled hairpiece, set with false flowers. He fastened it carefully into her hair. “I am gratified that you choose to share this with me.”

Tasha smiled. She took his hands, and squeezed gently. Her throat tightened, but she didn’t need to say anything. She was pretty sure Data understood. “Come on,” she said. “London awaits.”

A few months later, Tasha let Data into her quarters, hands clasped behind her back to keep from wringing them. “Thanks for coming,” she said.

“I am accustomed to less mystery when you invite me to your quarters,” Data admitted, but he didn’t look bothered by it. His expression was largely curiosity.

Tasha took a deep breath, and let it out again, nice and slow. “I want you to cut my hair.”

Data blinked. He cocked his head. “When we spoke of this-“

“I know.” Tasha covered Data’s hands with her own, lacing their fingers together. “But I trust you.”

Data searched her expression. “You have demonstrated your trust in me many times. You are under no obligation to do this.”

“No obligation,” Tasha agreed, “but I want to.” Walking backwards, she guided him towards the bathroom. She’d set out the scissors and the comb, laying neatly together on top of the folded towel. Data looked at them, then back to her.

“I have no experience with this skill,” Data told her, but he picked up the scissors anyway, cradling them carefully in one hand. “You are relying a great deal on faith.”

Tasha handed him the comb, then draped the towel around her neck, tugging on the ends with both hands. “I am,” she said. “But I’m willing to bet there’s some reference material _somewhere_ in your databanks. I’m willing to try.”

“Very well.” Data gestured towards the bathtub, and Tasha sat on the edge. Her shoulders tightened, body tensing, and she closed her eyes. She opened them again when Data set a hand on her shoulder. “I am not capable of hurting you,” he reminded her gently. “Nor do I have any desire to do so.”

Tasha swallowed hard and nodded. She tipped her head back, allowing Data to run a palmful of water over her hair. His hands were careful, methodical, and Tasha closed her eyes again. Her body stayed tense, her shoulders twitching upwards when she heard the first snip of the scissors, but she remained still, and gradually the tension bled away. The snipped strands tickled as they fell against her neck, and Data paused every so often to wipe them away from her hairline. Tasha opened her eyes and watched the way he focused, as completely intent on this task as every other one she’d seen him attempt. A comfortable heaviness settled over her body, and the last of the tension slipped away with her quiet exhale.

Finally, Data stepped back. He studied her with a critical eye, and then met her gaze. “Please tell me what you think.”

Tasha stood, crossing back to the mirror. She braced herself against the sink, twisting her head to catch the angles, her hair lightening again as it dried. It was an efficient job, and nearly identical to the way she kept it trimmed. “It’s perfect,” she murmured.

Over her shoulder, she could see some skepticism on Data’s face. “I believe it is an acceptable job for a first attempt.”

She turned to him and squeezed his hands. “I mean it. It’s perfect.” She could feel the scissors, still in his grip, but the thought of threat didn’t even cross her mind. She stretched up, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Data hesitated. He set the scissors and comb aside, and pulled the towel carefully from her shoulders, pausing to brush off a few pieces of hair that lingered on her clothes. Tasha placed her hand over his and held it there, and he looked at her. She smiled.

“Think you’d be up for doing it again in a couple months?” she asked.

Data nodded solemnly. “I should be able to make a more thorough study of cosmetology in that time.”

Tasha laughed. “If you want to.”

“I do.”

Tasha softened. She couldn’t help it, not when he looked so earnest. She kissed him again, on the lips this time, cupping his cheek as she lingered. When she broke the kiss, she leaned her forehead against his. “You know, I’m pretty sure there’s a step you’re forgetting in this hair-cutting process.”

Data blinked, straightening up. “I do not believe so.”

“Mmm, I think you are.” Tasha bit her lip, trying not to grin. She scratched at her neck idly, drawing Data’s attention to her throat. “See, the problem with cutting your hair is it leaves all these little scratchy bits that just don’t want to come off.”

“I see.” Data studied her, likely trying to guess if she was joking. “Is there a way to rectify the situation?”

Tasha nodded. She took a step backward, towards the bathtub, and grinned. “A shower usually does the trick.”

Data nodded. That playful look slipped back into his eye, a spark that made Tasha’s heart skip a beat. “And, naturally,” he said, “as your appointed hairdresser, I would be remiss if I did not assist you in completing this process.”

“Exactly.” Tasha reached behind her to activate the water, and with a laugh dragged Data, uniform and all, under the spray with her.


End file.
